


Composure

by kooleon



Series: Behind the Scenes of Prime [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, and i felt tears, and then sam smith pops up in my spotify with that lay me down feels, yall i almost cried writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kooleon/pseuds/kooleon
Summary: The knowledge of Breakdown's death reduces one of the best Decepticon surgeons to what can only be described as a perfect mess.





	Composure

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my friend who got me into transformers <3

_Inhale._

_Steady._

_Exhale._

Knock Out’s vents flush out warm air with a soft _fwoosh_. Welding tool in hand, he guides the blue flame to the split metal. The vehicon strapped to the medical berth lays limp with anesthesia, unable to squirm away from the burning heat (much to Knock Out’s personal disappointment).

After finishing the final touches on the frame fix, Knock Out powers off all of his tools and sets them down on his orderly counter. He rolls his joints, reveling in the relaxing pops. He stretches languidly, showing off to an invisible audience.

“Another successful operation to add to the ever-growing list,” he boasts, “What would the decepticon army look like without me?”

Knock Out grabs a data pad and leans against a counter, updating the vehicon’s medical records. By the time he finishes, the unconscious mech is still deep in recharge. Knock Out rolls his optics impatiently and pulls his energon staff from his subspace. He flicks it to a low setting and shocks the vehicon.

The poor soldier jolts upwards and out of the berth with a shout. “Sir! I’m up–uh,” the vehicon’s optics settle onto Knock Out, who has a servo on a hip and an impatient look on his face, “Th-thank you, sir.”

Knock Out says nothing, only jerking his head towards the exit. The vehicon nods and hurries out the med bay.

Knock Out allows a sideways smile to slip onto his mouth. _Ah, it’s far too much fun to scare the scrap out of them._ Knock Out is so acquainted with the feeling of being underestimated that coming out on top of a confrontation never gets old.

 _I’m not_ just _a pretty face,_ Knock Out considers and inspects the tips of his servo, _I also have a flawless frame and finish. Oh–and a rather handy energon staff_. He twirls the weapon and admires the arcs of blue light.

“Knock Out.”

The doctor’s thoughts fade away and he tilts his helm to face the voice.

“Dreadwing,” Knock Out replies, “You’re looking rather…sticky.” The corners of his mouth tilt upwards, out of his control.

“Knock Out.”

The apprehensive static in the other mech’s voice wipes all traces of teasing from Knock Out’s processor.

“ _What_?”

Dreadwing vents and the static silences. “Airachnid got away.”

“Why in the pits would I care about that psychopath?” Knock Out snorts, but he knows that Dreadwing has more to add. A sudden thought strikes him.

“Dreadwing,” Knock Out murmurs, staring down at his pedes, “where’s Breakdown.” The finality in his voice makes it clear that Knock Out knows the answer. The question itself is said as a statement of denial.

“Airachnid figured us out and stuck me to a tree,” Dreadwing brushes at the white patches stuck to his chassis, “Breakdown went after her alone. I didn’t see what happened, but I heard Breakdown screaming and metal–”

“ _Where’s the body?_ ” Knock Out hisses, optics narrowed into glowing crimson slits, “You may not be a witness to Breakdown’s torturous death, but _surely_ you recovered his corpse?”

“No,” Dreadwing answers, “all that was left was a line of webbing. There wasn’t a single scrap of metal left on the scene.”

“ _How?_ ”

“I wasn’t there, Knock Out.”

“ _Useless_ ,” Knock Out grits out, “out _now_.” He points a servo to the door.

Dreadwing doesn’t move. He just watches the trembling wheels on the other's back, spinning slowly from the force of Knock Out's grief. “I do not mean anything by this, but you seem rather upset over the death of a mere assistant.”

“ _Out!”_ Knock Out snarls, slamming his energon staff to the floor.

Dreadwing nods calmly and leaves Knock Out alone.

Knock Out throws the staff across the med bay and collapses against the counter, folding in on himself. He hears the squeaking of his paint against the metal of the counter, but he can’t bring himself to care. Breakdown won’t be there to buff it out for him.

Breakdown won’t _ever_ be there.

Knock Out clenches his trembling servos, presses his helm against his fists, tries to forget Breakdown’s yellow optics–anything to stop the throbbing in his spark.

Memories flood Knock Out’s processor, pushing against his dam of emotions. The pressure in his helm becomes unbearable, and Knock Out forces himself to his pedes and stumbles less-than-gracefully to his suite. He nearly pulls a drawer out of its place trying to find his stash of hi-grade energon. By the time he grabs a rather large canister of liquefied energon, his vision has become nearly black and white.

Knock Out struggles to open the canister. His servos tremble too much. When was the last time Knock Out felt so much _emotion_?

 _I’m a doctor–a surgeon! I shouldn’t be unable to open some hi-grade just because some mech got offlined!_ Knock Out thinks angrily.

_Some mech…Breakdown isn’t just ‘some mech.’_

Tears gather in Knock Out’s optics and he inhales shakily. Knock Out’s fans whirl in response to his spark’s heat.

_Aw, c’mon, Knock Out. You’re the best decepticon surgeon. Shouldn’t you be more controlled than this?_

“…Breakdown?”

_Composure, remember? I always loved that about you. You always have a plan. You’re so calm and controlled. How do you do it?_

“Calm? How am I ‘ _calm_ ,’ Breakdown?” Knock Out laughs ruefully.

_To be fair, you haven’t had a drop of hi-grade yet._

Knock Out cradles the canister. “I can’t even open it with my servos like this,” he says bitterly at his shaking fingers.

_Just…just breath, right?_

“R-right.” Knock Out’s vents flushing out overheated air can barely be heard over his deafening fans.

_Inhale._

“I-I…” Knock Out sobs, “I _can’t_. Breakdown, why aren’t you here?”

_Exhale._


End file.
